


stutter

by groundopenwide



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, if that isn't enough to grab your attention then i don't know what is, sebastian plays ultimate!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That atypical college AU where Blaine is a shy music major, Sebastian plays Ultimate, and Sam is the worst (best) roommate ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stutter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 of Seblaine Week 2013.

“Sam!” Blaine calls, sticking his head out from behind the refrigerator door and scanning the main area of the house for any sign of his roommate. “Did you use the rest of the milk?”

A moment later, Sam emerges from the hallway, blonde hair still wet from the shower. He has a towel in his hands and is scrubbing at the top of his head as he replies, “oh yeah, sorry, dude. I meant to replace it but it totally slipped my mind.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Blaine shuts the refrigerator and moves to deposit his cereal back into the box, muttering, “you’re the worst.”

Sam just smiles sheepishly.

“Hey, but you’re still coming to the game later today, right?” he asks, slinging the towel in his hands over the edge of one of the barstools at the counter and hefting himself up to sit. Blaine finishes washing out his unused bowl, placing it back in the cupboard before he turns to his roommate in feigned nonchalance.

“Isn’t it supposed to rain?” he questions.

“Ultimate don’t stop for anything, man!” Sam declares, throwing his hands up into the air. “C’mon, dude. You haven’t been to a game since I first joined. Plus, you don’t get out enough. It’ll be good for you!”

Unfortunately, his roommate is right—Blaine doesn’t get out. Ever. He tends to spend most of his free time outside of class behind his locked bedroom door, fiddling around with his guitar and avoiding all forms of social interaction. As a third-year music major, Blaine has lucked out in the fact that he isn’t required to hold much one-on-one conversation, just play his instrument and be done. It isn’t even that he’s shy, per say—he’s just terribly awkward and has a hard time speaking properly to people. That’s all.

Hell, it’s taken over two years for him to warm up to Sam completely. They’d been thrown together as roommates their freshman year, and despite Blaine’s lack of people skills, Sam had been determined to win him over with his effusive charm and cheesy impressions. And eventually, it had worked. He and Sam have chosen to live together ever since, the only difference this year being that they are off-campus in a dingy house that is just large enough for the two of them. Blaine tolerates Sam’s ever-enthusiastic personality, and Sam, in-turn, doesn’t judge Blaine for his introversion. It’s comfortable, easy most of the time (until Sam eats them out of a refrigerator the one time Blaine needs milk for his cereal), and Blaine would honestly have married his friend by now if Sam weren’t straight as a board and sickeningly in love with his girlfriend, Quinn.

That’s the other downside to Blaine’s cursed social ineptitude- his love life is essentially nonexistent. He had one boyfriend towards the end of freshman year, a bubbly theater major named Kurt Hummel, but that had only lasted long enough for Kurt to realize just how much of a bumbling idiot Blaine was. They broke up before sophomore year even began.

And now, Sam wants him to attend one of his Ultimate Frisbee matches, which means that Blaine will be expected to socialize with all of the other players who are also Sam’s friends. Sure, Blaine’s met a few of them before—Jeff Sterling and Ryder Lynn come over pretty regularly to invade their couch and kick Sam’s ass at Call of Duty, and they’ve always been nice enough—but it’s not them that Blaine is worried about.

It’s Sebastian Smythe.

*

Blaine first met Sebastian back in October, when Sam invited a handful of his teammates back to the house for pizza following one of their games. Blaine had been seated on the couch in a pair of ratty sweatpants and an old  _Oasis_ t-shirt when the front door had burst open, revealing a group of chattering college students in sweaty workout clothes.

Scrambling up from his previously relaxed position, Blaine took in the hoard of people in his living room and immediately gulped, the nerves settling in his stomach. He didn’t know anyone except for Sam, who had emerged from the crowd tailed by another unfamiliar tall figure, both of their arms stacked high with pizza boxes.

“Blaine!” Sam shouted, attempting to peer around the tower of cardboard, and Blaine managed to collect himself enough to move to his roommate’s side so that he was visible.

“Right here,” he mumbled, taking a few of the boxes from Sam’s hands and leading the way towards the kitchen table. “What’s going on?”

“We’re celebrating!” Sam announced, finally setting his own boxes down. “I brought the team over to eat. Hope you don’t mind.”

Blaine glanced down at his wrinkled attire, then met Sam’s gaze again with a nervous frown. “You couldn’t have at least warned me first?”

Sam shrugged apologetically, opening his mouth to respond, when another body suddenly appeared next to him. Belatedly, Blaine realized that it must have been the other guy who was helping to carry pizza boxes, but his brain was mostly stuck on the fact that this guy was the hottest person Blaine had ever  _seen._

His eyes were a muted shade of green, brown hair matted to his forehead with sweat, and he was at least a half-foot taller than Blaine, if not more. The loose tank top he was wearing revealed the sinewy muscles of his arms, and there were actual freckles on his shoulders, scattered aimlessly about the tanned skin.

While Blaine was dressed in sweatpants. And also just happened to be the most socially awkward person on the face of the planet.

“Hey, man, where are your glasses? I’m parched,” the guy said to Sam, and oh god, his voice. It was low and smooth as honey, sending a visible shudder through Blaine’s body. It seemed to take a few seconds for the guy to notice Blaine, but when he finally did, his slanted eyes trailing along Blaine’s body, Blaine swore he felt himself all but melt straight into the floor.

“Cabinet left of the sink. But, hey, wait a minute. This is my roommate, Blaine. Blaine, this is our star player, Sebastian Smythe,” Sam introduced.

Sebastian rolled his eyes but didn’t refute the comment, stretching out his hand. “Hey. Sorry we’re kind of taking over your place, but it’s nice to meet you.”

Blaine stared at Sebastian’s palm for a good twenty seconds before he managed to reach out and return the gesture, his palm slipping into Sebastian’s and his cheeks flushing an undignified shade of red. “Hi,” he squeaked, unable to formulate anything else, and Sebastian’s head cocked to one side as he lifted an eyebrow in slight amusement.

Blaine wanted to  _die._

“He’s a bit…uh, shy,” Sam explained as Sebastian released Blaine’s hand and shot the blonde a crooked smirk.

“I noticed,” he commented, darting his eyes back to Blaine, who was now even redder and painfully resisting the urge to clobber his roommate upside the head with a stick. “It’s cool, though. Nice shirt, by the way.”

Blaine’s head shot up once he recognized that Sebastian was speaking to him again, and then he glimpsed down at where Liam Gallagher’s face was emblazoned on his chest. Sebastian followed his gaze, the bemused smirk on his face widening slightly, and Blaine looked away self-consciously as his arms came up to wrap protectively around his middle.

“Oh, leave him, Bas,” Sam complained, shoving at his friend’s side. “Go get your water or something.”

Sebastian instantly straightened up and gave Sam a mock salute, shouting, “sir, yes sir!” He then spun on his heel and headed for the kitchen, but not without tossing a wink back over his shoulder in Blaine’s direction.

A second later, Sam leaned towards Blaine and whispered dramatically, “you’re blushing.”

“I hate you so much,” Blaine grumbled, furiously trying to crush the butterflies that had erupted in his stomach. He was  _so_ fucked.

*

So yes, Blaine’s massively pathetic and unreturned crush on one Sebastian Smythe poses a bit of a problem.

Not only does he turn into even more of a stuttering, blushing mess when in the other boy’s presence, but Blaine is also about as attractive as a troll with his stupidly curly hair and midget-sized proportions.

It is utterly hopeless, but Blaine has been unable to resist pining uselessly after Sebastian for the past three-plus months. Each time Sam invites the team over, Blaine spends the hours idiotically tracking Sebastian’s movements across the room and crafting imaginary conversations in his head that he never actually initiates.

It’s woeful, really.

Of course, this ultimately means that he can’t turn down Sam’s request that he show up to the match this afternoon, because it translates to extra Sebastian-stalking time. And a sweaty, muddy Sebastian? Even better.

He finally mutters his agreement to his roommate, who  _whoops_ loudly and drags Blaine into a half bear-hug across the counter. Blaine grunts upon impact before awkwardly patting Sam’s shoulder, and after suffering through a couple more seconds of discomfort, he wheezes, “Sam…can’t… _breathe._ ”

His friend quickly releases him and just gives him another sheepish grin. “Have I mentioned that you’re the best roommate in the history of, like, ever?”

“No. Tell me more often,” Blaine demands, while Sam merely laughs. “Also, you’re doing the grocery shopping this week. I need milk for my cheerios.”

*

Sure enough, it is pouring down rain when Blaine leaves the house that afternoon, and he curses under his breath as he bolts the few steps out to his car, his hair already soaked through by the time he makes it to cover once more. Thankfully, there is an umbrella stuffed into the foot well on the passenger’s side of the vehicle, which means Blaine won’t have to drown for the entire match. He arrives at the field Sam’s team usually occupies while everyone else is still showing up as well, and Blaine stations himself at one end, umbrella clutched tightly in his hand.

“Blaine!” Sam yells upon spotting him, and Blaine musters up a weak wave. A few of the other players greet him, too, Jeff Sterling even bounding over to say hello and force Blaine into a few stilted seconds of conversation.

He bids farewell as soon as the match is about to start, and Blaine’s eyes follow Jeff’s retreating back as he joins the rest of the team in the center of the field. His gaze scans over the group as he searches for a familiar lean figure, and when he finally does spot Sebastian, whose shirt is already drenched as the rain drops slip down his neck, Blaine’s heart rate picks up tenfold.

It just isn’t  _fair._ What right does Sebastian have to be so…attractive?

Blaine attempts to tear his thoughts away from Sebastian long enough to pay attention to the actual match, but this quickly proves futile. Sam hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called Sebastian their “star player—” he throws the Frisbee with utter ease, long legs eating up the soggy ground as he sprints back and forth, and Blaine is captivated. If he’s honest with himself, he has no idea what the score is or even what is happening, his mind occupied by the way Sebastian’s fingers curl around the disc in his hand.

It’s official. His crush has reached epic proportions, turning into the most pathetic of all things pathetic. Here he is, rooted outside in the pouring rain as he waxes poetically about Sebastian throwing a  _Frisbee._

Blaine facepalms internally.

He is so busy slapping himself upside the head in his mind that he doesn’t even notice when the match finishes. The only thing that clues him in is the abrupt presence of a soaked, dirt-covered figure in front of him, Sam nearly mauling him over in excitement.

“See? It was worth it, right?” his roommate asks, and Blaine manages to extricate himself from Sam’s grasp a moment later, grumbling in annoyance.

“Yeah, awesome,” he agrees dutifully, just as another few bodies materialize beside them, Ryder and another player on the team, Nick Duval, hooking their arms around Sam’s shoulders.

“We killed it!” Ryder crows, shooting Blaine a bright smile. “Hey, man.”

“Hi,” Blaine mumbles, but Ryder has already turned back to Nick and Sam, who are speaking at what Blaine estimates to be around three thousand miles per hour.

“A bunch of us are gonna grab a bite to eat. You in?” Nick questions, and Sam immediately nods, shooting a look in Blaine’s direction.

“You should come,” he exclaims, while Nick and Ryder echo the suggestion. Blaine winces, biting down on his lip as the dread at the idea of sitting around a table full of rambunctious Ultimate players curls in his gut. He glances hesitantly back at Sam, prepared to politely turn down the offer, until he notices the hopeful expression on his roommate’s features.

Well, he can’t say no to  _that,_ can he?

“I guess,” he responds at last, Ryder and Nick cheering loudly as Sam grins and reaches out to ruffle Blaine’s hair beneath the umbrella.

*

They end up at Joni’s, a twenty-four hour diner just a few blocks away from the field. All eight of them who have decided to tag along end up squished together in one of the leather booths, the conversation lively and the laughter incessant as they all reach across the table to grabble at the baskets of french fries in the middle. Blaine is pressed tightly into the back corner of the booth, a nervous smile on his face as he observes the chatter around him, but doesn’t participate. He twiddles his thumbs together anxiously in his lap, half-listening to Jeff as he speaks from his right side. Meanwhile, the other half of his body feels as if it has been coated in gasoline and lit aflame, because Sebastian is pressed right up against him, his thigh a line of heat where it touches Blaine’s.

And Blaine can’t think of a single thing to say (though that isn’t anything new). He has furiously been avoiding looking in Sebastian’s direction the entire time, but it’s becoming exceedingly difficult. Sebastian will release a particularly loud chuckle, or his elbow will accidentally knock Blaine’s, and Blaine’s stomach will burst into a jumble of fluttering, twisting knots, the heat creeping into his cheeks.

He would be perfectly content to just sit here forever, silently reveling in his proximity to Sebastian without actually taking part in the conversation around him, but Sam, unsurprisingly, refuses to leave him be. Blaine is busy staring down at the formica tabletop when he suddenly hears his name being mentioned, and he looks up only to find the entire table watching him.

“Blaine plays,” Sam is saying, and Blaine’s cheeks redden instantly.

“Huh?” he mutters eloquently.

“Sam says you play guitar,” a voice pipes in, and Blaine follows the sound to the face of a thin Latina girl—Santana, he thinks her name is?

“I-I’m a music major,” he replies quietly, and another girl next to Santana suddenly leans forward, her gaze imploring.

“How?” she chirps. “Aren’t you, like, really shy? Don’t you get stage fright?”

 _No, I’m just not good at **talking**  to people. Singing is a different matter,_ Blaine wants to say, but his voice gets stuck in his throat, and he quickly looks away, his face warming. A small course of laughter arises from the table, and Blaine knows that it isn’t meant to be hurtful, but it still stings a bit. He rolls his lower lip into his mouth and stares back down at his hands, grateful when the conversation finally turns its attention away from him.

He startles another minute later when a warm palm lands on his thigh, and he jerks his gaze upwards, his breath hitching when he realizes that Sebastian is watching him, an apologetic smile on his face. Blaine swallows thickly. Sebastian’s hand radiates heat against his leg in a way that nearly makes him squirm, and if Blaine weren’t already red as a tomato, he sure as hell is now.

The taller man ducks his head slightly, his voice a hushed murmur in between them. “Just ignore Sugar. She has Asperger’s and can’t seem to control her mouth.”

All Blaine can do is nod stiltedly, his eyes darting away from Sebastian’s. “T-thanks,” he stutters out.

But Sebastian is still leaning in close, his eyes narrowed as they burn a hole into Blaine’s profile. His fingers give Blaine’s leg a light squeeze before he says, “you really are shy, aren’t you?”

Blaine’s throat tightens, but somehow, he mutters, “just…not good with people,” he explains quietly.

“Then why’d you come?” Sebastian asks. His tone seems genuinely curious, but Blaine can’t tell him the whole truth without looking like a total creeper.

Stupid,  _stupid_ crush.

He settles for a weak, “Sam asked me to,” and shrugs.

Sebastian hums thoughtfully, his hand finally removing itself form Blaine’s leg. The breath surges back into Blaine’s lungs, and he reaches out for his water glass just so his hands have something to do, fingers playing absently with his straw.

“Well,” Sebastian answers, a beat later. “I  _personally_ think you should talk more. You’re quite an intriguing one.”

Blaine’s mouth drops open rather ungracefully, lips falling into a soft ‘o,’ while Sebastian merely grins at him before turning back to the rest of the table.

Sebastian thinks he’s  _intriguing._

Oh.

*

If perhaps, after that, Blaine makes more of an effort to be out in the living room whenever Sam’s Ultimate friends are over, well, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

It’s still ridiculously hard for him to take Sebastian’s advice and actually  _talk_ , but Blaine does notice the little, satisfied smile Sebastian will send him every time Blaine joins them in the kitchen for pizza, or participates in an x-box duel. The sight fills Blaine with a sort of pleased sensation that isn’t entirely unwelcome, because Sebastian thinks he’s  _intriguing,_ and actually seems to want him around most of the time.

Blaine is so gone for this boy, it isn’t even funny.

A few weeks after the night at the diner, and it’s storming again, the rain pelting Blaine’s windshield as he drives back across campus after his four o’clock workshop. He’s starving, for some reason, the sandwich he’d downed earlier in the day not seeming to have satisfied him, and all he’s really thinking about is food and his sweatpants and maybe a bit of quality time with his guitar, because it’s been awhile since he took a few hours to just play around a bit.

That’s why he nearly does a double-take when he notices an all-too-familiar figure trudging its way down the sidewalk, backpack pulled up over his head while his long sleeved Henley is glued to his back. Blaine pulls the car over without thinking about it, rolling down the passenger window despite the blast of rainwater that ends up all over the floor, and calls out.

“Sebastian!”

The boy halts, bending over to peer into the interior of the car. The relief that washes over his face when he spots Blaine is evident, and he jogs over and climbs into the vehicle without even waiting for an invitation, his backpack landing in a sopping wad at his feet.

“Oh, thank  _Christ._  You are a lifesaver, Blaine. My class got out late, and I wasn’t expecting the rain—” he pauses, shaking out a few stray water droplets from his hair before sinking back into the seat. He glances over at Blaine, a lopsided smile on his face, and adds, “sorry about all the water.”

“It’s fine,” Blaine croaks out, eyes tracking the liquid that drips from Sebastian’s hair and lands on his collar, his throat running dry. “I’ll just—where to?”

“Baker,” Sebastian replies, tapping his fingers casually against the doorframe as Blaine puts on his signal and pulls back into the road. He starts in the direction of Baker Hall, one of the many residence halls on campus, but a minute later, he almost slams on the brakes again, his head whipping around to glimpse at Sebastian.

“That’s—isn’t that a freshman dorm?” he blurts, and Sebastian raises an eyebrow, his mouth tipping upwards again.

“Uh, yes?” he responds carefully. “Why, afraid all of the scary underclassmen will attack you?”

Blaine jerkily shakes his head.

Sebastian is a  _freshman._

Holy. Fuck.

“You doing okay there, Blaine?” Sebastian calls, snapping his fingers in front of Blaine’s eyes and re-gathering his attention. “I really don’t want us to crash and die, so if you could watch the road, that’d be awesome.”

“S-sorry,” Blaine squeaks, his neck heating up as he stares resolutely out the front windshield. From his side, he hears Sebastian laugh quietly, but Blaine is too busy hyperventilating to say much else, his thoughts a jumbled mess inside his head. He’s been pining after an  _underclassman_  for  _months._

This truly is an all-time low for him.

*

Blaine basically locks himself up in his bedroom after that, only emerging to eat, use the bathroom, or go to class. Sam knocks on his door a couple of times, but gives up by the third day, mumbling,  _fine, dude, be lame_  through the wall before heading off to Ultimate practice. Blaine puts all of his energy into his guitar, attempting to empty his mind and focus on only the music. His fingers are stiff and sore soon enough, but Blaine pays his aching hands as little attention as possible. He is still reeling after finding out about he and Sebastian’s age difference, and sure, it’s hardly a blip in the grand scheme of things, but it still means that he’s been pathetically crawling around after a  _freshman,_  and the thought is  _not_  a contribution to his already-lacking self esteem.

By the end of the week, Blaine is beginning to go a bit stir-crazy. His bedroom walls seem to be closing in on him, and he eventually decides that it wouldn’t hurt to go out and fetch a coffee or  _something,_  just to breathe the fresh air. He pockets his phone and his keys and then emerges out into the hallway, treading along the carpeted floor towards the front door. He only stops once he hears voices filtering in from the living room, and he ducks back into the kitchen, unsure if he’s willing to face Sam and his friends (read: _Sebastian_  ) right now.

And then he tunes into their conversation.

“Does he go out at  _all?_ ” someone asks—Nick, Blaine is pretty sure—and it takes a second for Sam to reply.

“He isn’t good with people, okay? Poor guy just blushes and stutters all the time. You can’t blame him for hiding out.”

“It’s weird,” Ryder chimes in. “Then again, he is a music major. They’re pretty silent and act all holier-than-thou, don’t they?”

A foul taste is beginning to form at the back of Blaine’s throat, and he sinks further back into the kitchen, his hand coming up to cover his mouth in shock. These guys—he’d thought they at least liked him, a little. They’d always been genuinely nice to him—hadn’t they?

But the next person to speak is the one that is the real punch to the gut.

“Think they’re too good for everyone else. They spend all of their time making love to their instruments and shit, and then they think it’s okay to ignore everyone else when they’re in public.” Sebastian snorts, and Blaine’s stomach churns roughly, a stinging sensation pricking at the backs of his eyelids. “Are you sure he’s, like…normal? He can’t talk at all.”

“Guys, lay off,” Sam protests weakly, but Blaine is already barreling out of the kitchen and heading straight past them for the front door, his head down while his heartbeat pounds in his ears. Every head turns to glance at him from the couch, and the silence is deafening. Blaine’s hand trembles violently as he reaches for the knob and pulls the door open. He ignores the broken sound of Sebastian calling out from behind him and slams the door closed, the force behind the pull rattling the porch as Blaine jogs down the steps and scrubs furiously at his eyes.

He’d been so fucking  _stupid_ to get his hopes up. He’s just a socially inept, arrogant music major, after all.

*

“Blaine—”

Blaine’s fingers fumble against the neck of his guitar, and the next chord comes out mangled and wrong-sounding. He immediately squeezes his eyes shut and leans back against the edge of his bed from his seat on the floor, his breathing growing shallow as a familiar voice filters in from the doorway.

“Please leave,” he whispers. He waits a moment for the sound of the door clicking shut, but it never comes, and when he opens his eyes, Sebastian is hovering uncertainly in front of him, his face painted with remorse.

It sends a sharp pain through Blaine’s body which he furiously attempts to ignore.

“Blaine,” Sebastian repeats, lowering himself to his knees and crouching down across from Blaine, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“Then—then why’d you say it?” Blaine chokes out. His voice comes out far raspier than he’s intended, and it breaks on the last word. He has to glance back down at his guitar as his eyes start to water.

“I—I don’t know,” Sebastian admits. “I didn’t mean it, any of it. I don’t think you’re like that.”

“Yes, you do,” Blaine mumbles, turning to set his guitar aside and pulling his knees up to his chest. He releases a shuddering sigh and adds, “otherwise you wouldn’t have come up with it in the first place.”

“Please look at me,” Sebastian begs.

Blaine sniffs and hesitantly obeys, lifting his head. He knows that his eyes are most likely red and swollen, but it startles him when he sees that Sebastian’s are as well, his mouth twisted into a frown and his shoulders hunched in defeat. He stares over at Blaine in resignation, brows furrowed, and Blaine has to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat.

“I don’t think you’re self-centered, or weird, or…anything like that,” Sebastian says softly. “I think that you’re incredibly interesting. Your shyness is so adorable that it’s criminal, and I really do wish you  _would_ talk more, because I really want to hear what you have to say. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I…I have no excuses. I’m just sorry.”

But Blaine’s mind is stuck on the first half of Sebastian’s spiel:

He thinks Blaine’s adorable?

It’s almost impossible to crush the hope that seems to blossom in Blaine’s chest in that moment. He wipes at his eyes and glances cautiously over at Sebastian, his nose wrinkling uncertainly. “…I’m adorable?”

Sebastian blinks, and then lets out a choked laugh before shaking his head. “Is that really all you got from that?”

Blaine shrugs somewhat sheepishly and looks down again, the dreaded flush crawling its way onto his face.

“Yes. Adorable,” Sebastian declares a second later, which only serves to make Blaine redden even more. “I take it I’m forgiven, then?”

“…I suppose,” Blaine mumbles, and when he raises his head, Sebastian is grinning at him, white-toothed and bright. He looks so much like a little kid, yet still painfully gorgeous, with his hair flopping into his eyes and the first few buttons on his shirt popped open. Blaine gulps, and the moment seems to shift, Sebastian’s gaze falling to track the movement of Blaine’s throat as it works.

“Blaine…” he starts, then seems to hesitate over his next words. “Do you…like me?”

_Busted._

Blaine stammers out an incomprehensible response, his arms sliding protectively around himself as he bites his lip and turns away. He tries to prepare himself for the let-down, for Sebastian’s refusal, his shoulders tensing and his expression falling.

But Sebastian is suddenly  _right there,_  cupping his face between gentle hands and tipping it upwards, a questioning expression on his face. Blaine swears that he stops breathing for a second, his lips parting but no sound coming out.

And then they’re kissing.

Blaine’s only been kissed a few times before, and never by anyone like  _Sebastian,_  beautiful and charming and perfect Sebastian. He’s pretty sure he’s about died and floated up into space, because it feels completely unreal. He’s been pining after Sebastian for so long that he’d come to accept his crush as forever unrequited, because he is awkward and not very attractive and stutters far too much for a grown man. Yet, here he is, with Sebastian’s mouth against his own in an action that basically screams  _I like you back._

Blaine might actually have to consider thanking Sam for starting all of this Ultimate Frisbee business.


End file.
